


Lullaby

by Knightess



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Childhood, Family, Gen, Loss, Native American Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightess/pseuds/Knightess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On some nights, he still wakes to the sound of his mother's song. On those nights, sleep does not come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby

_Ho, ho, watane,_

_Ho, ho, watane,_

_Ho, ho, watane,_

_Kiokena, kiokena_.

Ratonhnhaké:ton stirred. He could hear a voice, echoing through the length of the longhouse. A woman’s voice, distant but amplified by the stillness.

He sat up, strained his ears, but now could hear nothing but silence. A dream, perhaps, but dreams had meaning as well. Was someone trying to speak to him? He listened again. Another of the boys murmured and turned over in his sleep, further down the longhouse. Teiowí:sonte, perhaps, or his brother. The mundane sounds of normal life jostling for attention.

_Kiokena, kiokena._

No—he heard it again. A song. Shivering, Ratonhnhaké:ton slid out of the niche and onto the earthen floor of the aisle, not bothering to slip on shoes or to dress against the cold as he padded through the dark. There was a stream of faint light drifting down the middle of the longhouse, an arm of moonlight reaching through the smoke-hole. He passed that strip of light, back through the dark, and into the night. _Kiokena_ , the song echoed, following with him like a whisper.

It was a cool, bright evening outside, the sharp autumn air waking him from his drowsiness. Though it was forbidden for the children to wander the village alone, tonight, Ratonhnhaké:ton did not care. He was drawn on by that song still ringing in his ears.

He headed for the lake. He passed the ashes of the village fire, the crop fields left empty for the night, the canoes and fishing nets all cast aside. The lake lapped against a deserted shore. He paused, stared at the water, stared at the way the moon and stars shone within its depths.

Then he found his eyes drawn up from the water, up toward the sky. The Sky Road was bright tonight, he thought, staring at the stream of stars painting their way across the blackness. He only wished he could see beyond its end.

“ _Ista_?” he whispered.

 _Watane,_ the sky whispered back.

He crouched and cupped his hands in the water, splashing his face in it and shattering the smooth surface. Would Grandmother Moon and the stars reach him then? Pull him in, hoist him up, if only he could grasp enough? But his small hands made only small ripples in the water, there was only so much his palms could hold – the rest slipped away back into the lake, back into stillness, and before long the sky shimmered back into its perfect image.

Faintly, he heard the voice again, quiet but clear. From behind him, in the direction of the Turtle Clan’s longhouse. Another woman sang, soothing a crying child back to sleep. He pictured the mother with her family, her arms around her children and husband, and he could feel no joy for them in that moment, only disappointment. Was it her song he had heard all along?

He pictured his own mother, tried to recall her voice, her face. It was patchwork images and sounds, half-forgotten memories, some things he couldn’t tell where recollection began and dream and imagination filled in the blanks. What he did remember he kept close to his chest, fragile images more precious to him than anything. She had sung that song to him, before, when he had cried out in the night. She had stroked his hair and kissed him and held him until he drifted away.

He did not know how long he stayed on the shore for. He felt cold, inert, bent double and clutching himself. Words would not come. The grief would not come.

The rest was lost in the memory of flames, the smell of burning flesh.

**Author's Note:**

> "Ho, Ho, Watane" is a traditional Kanien'kéha lullaby. The lyrics translate to "Sleep, sleep, little one", "Sleep now, sleep now".


End file.
